The Spaces Between My Fingers
by Bea Candy
Summary: Link and Peatrice may look imbalanced. Like an odd couple of sorts. The Hero of Time and...what, some shopkeeper who's never left the island? But that's all superficial. (30 Day OTP challenge for Link/Peatrice)


His hair reflects the ceiling lights in a kaleidoscope of the beauty that is simply him, the combination of all of his traits somehow concentrated in a pureness of light, an almost sparkling rainbow and darker blonde indicating that he has been diving recently. I stifle a giggle but cannot hide my smile at the thought, but it doesn't matter since he's not looking at me. That's perhaps a tad disappointing but not at all worrisome, since he barely looks my way unless he has the excuse of something to deposit or withdraw or sell. The two of us are still a secret, after all, and it's not worth interrupting his mission just to begin exchanging secret glances. It's okay for us to be apart from each other and know, just know.

But it's different somehow. He's not just casually ignoring our moments of eye contact. He's actively avoiding them. And that's enough to set off an alarm. He's detached, sure, but never in a deliberate way like this. He walks to Luv and Bertie, filling all of his bottles with the most potent potions they have available. After placing down money that I could swear is more than he owes for it, he looks to Rupin and buys some seeds, arrows, and bombs until his bags are overflowing and he laughs as she drops one in sheepish but gleeful clumsiness, but it's too awkward to be right. He almost runs to Sparrot the fortune teller after that and he spends a few minutes asking the vaguest of questions, only to sit longer than necessary as if simply taking in the words.

He stands, stands at the door on the other side, and I look toward him in spite of myself in an unusual and yet oh-so-me sort of fear, one I know is probably unnecessary. After all, fearing for Link is pointless. He's a hero and he know what he's doing. And yet as he leaves I can't help but let out a little whimper of pain and that prompts him to turn toward me automatically.

Our eyes lock and I sense fear in his wide, almost-almost-almost-teary ones. I look with something like confusion and he, coming to his senses, perhaps, shifts his eyes away. I prepare to see him turn and leave and I feel disappointed with myself. Hadn't I promised I wouldn't get in his way or get serious with him until he had finished his mission? Hadn't I?

He surprises me, and maybe himself as well, when he approaches me instead of turning to the exit. He looks up at me again, any sort of fear or pain he might have had masked. And yet even if it's not true, the happiness he flashes me is more real than the formal sort of cordiality he usually affords himself regarding me. He reaches my desk, his steps seeming more and more forced with each one, as he continues to give that fake-real-smile.

"H-hi-" I clear my throat and curse my trembling voice, "Hi Link." I congratulate myself sarcastically for managing that and I wonder if perhaps the routine is what he wants. "Do you have anything you need me to-?"

The word 'store' is lost on my lips when he grabs my hand which is lazily lying on the counter. He turns its palm upward and places something inside of it, something shimmering a red and silver. I look at it, though I'm somewhat afraid to direct my eyes from his face, afraid he'll disappear or his rare smile will. I chance it, though, and I see a heart ornately decorated with silver streams almost like veins, encrusted in a silver circle encompassing it. It's a medallion I've seen before, but the circumstances surrounding this make it seem somehow more, like it's only just begun to truly exist.

I look at him and see that same smile. Even though I know somewhere his answer will be no, I gently say, "Do you want me to store this?"

He shakes his head fervently, looking bemused, and closes my fingers around it, looking at me as if hoping to telepathically project his intentions.

"You mean…this is…for me?"

He nods with a slight blush, looking satisfied, and yet this smile is still covering some bittersweet thing I wish I could comprehend but know he cannot explain to me. And yet it overtakes his eyes and his hand which is holding the fingers of my clutched one moves to hold it somewhat more tightly and his other hand moves to my cheek. It's so soft and gentle as he rubs my cheek, making gently circular caresses with his hand as he moves his face closer to mine. He's all I can see and I can't hear anything until suddenly his hand moves off-rhythm for a moment and the hypersensitive shock pulls me back into reality. I, against all of the voices begging no in my head, pull away as he looks at me with his emotions replaced by confusion.

"People are watching here," I say dumbly, and I instantly feel like I've done something wrong once I say it. I think I see a flash of that pain before it simply turns into guilt and shame and he forms a word with her hand, one of the few words of sign language I know.

Sorry.

He turns away and starts toward the door and I know I've lost it, lost the moment, lost my chance, when despite everything saying otherwise, I say, "Wait." He pauses, not turning back to me, and gives me one last moment to say something and fix what I broke. "Tonight, my father will be out and I will be on the academy rooftop. If you can, come there too." He turns back with surprise and even if the sadness is still there, she looks different as she smiles and nods slightly enough that I may have imagined it. He leaves the bazaar, then, but it's alright.

I look at the heart he placed in my hand and think my last thought, a bit more convincingly this time.

It's alright.


End file.
